


You Forgot It In People

by platonicdust



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Diners, Everyone Is Alive, Everyone stays alive, F/F, Freeform, Herc is aroace, Herc is the best friend, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not really sure where this is going, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Not a Love Story, Not a lot happens, Platonic Relationships, Prostitution, Self-Harm, Sibling Bonding, Trans Character, Trans John Laurens, Transitioning, and what he's going through, but like not from John or the other main characters, rather than his relationships, this story is mostly about John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2019-08-23 13:18:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16619693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/platonicdust/pseuds/platonicdust
Summary: John is tired and broken and sad. And he’s been alone for far too long. Been fighting battles and wars that should have won long ago. But he’s still alive. And he doesn’t know if that for better or for worse.So he chases the next high. Chases the feelings that help him feel alive. He gets himself into some stupid shit but always manages to drag himself out of it again.John meets people. People he thinks might be able to help him get a little bit better. See things a little bit brighter. And he’s willing to do everything he can to be happy again.





	1. This is a Mouth That Needs Religion

**Author's Note:**

> ok so this is the first fic i've written. like i write a lot, i just don't tend to finish things but here we are. hopefully i'll end up finishing it.
> 
> this idea really was born out of me having so much love for this fandom and all the amazing fics i've read. seriously. there's so many and they're all amazing.
> 
> anyway, i don't really know what you're supposed to say at the start of your first fic but if you enjoy, a kudos and a comment would mean the world to me.
> 
> Enjoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so this is the first fic i've written. like i write a lot, i just don't tend to finish things but here we are. hopefully i'll end up finishing it.
> 
> this idea really was born out of me having so much love for this fandom and all the amazing fics i've read. seriously. there's so many and they're all amazing.
> 
> anyway, i don't really know what you're supposed to say at the start of your first fic but if you enjoy, a kudos and a comment would mean the world to me.
> 
> Enjoy

John was sitting outside his apartment complex when the rain started pouring down. It was old, and the landlord was one of those sketchy, drug-dealer types that you'd see in the movies. 

When John had first come to the building looking for a cheap place to stay, the landlord had opened the door, blunt tucked behind his ear and wearing an old wife-beater. 

The complex smelt like stale weed, half of the lights were broken, and most of the walls had odd, black stains on them. But it was cheap, and unlike the outside view, it wasn't dirty. He still had some standards and refused to stay in a place with bed bugs or the occasional rat.

He knew he shouldn't be outside. It was dark and cold and he could faintly hear police sirens in the distance. He wouldn't be surprised if they were headed to his complex. It certainly wouldn't be the first, nor the last.

He also knew he shouldn't start walking anywhere that wasn't his apartment but the rain had let up a bit and he had never been good at getting his brain and his body to cooperate. He wasn't about to start.

He started out, not really having a destination in mind. He tripped into a drunk man on the curb and muttering a quiet "sorry". At least, he thought he did. His voice felt small and although he hated it, sometimes on nights like these, his voice would crack and reminded him of his younger self. He hated feeling scared and small and feminine but it wasn't something he could help.

Thoughts about going out to a bar swirled around in his head vaguely. Perhaps he'd find a nice boy and get him to fuck him or maybe punch one of the loud regulars that always got more aggressive when drunk. 

But he was tired. The type of tired that sleep couldn't fix. A heavy set exhaustion that had set in his bones as soon as he realised he wasn't like the rest of the boys at school and wouldn't let go.

His eyes prickled with something wet and he didn't know if it was the wind or if he really was just losing his mind. He didn't get sad like this. When he was feeling too much his veins ran red and he boiled with anger. When he was like that he didn't care who he punched. Whether it was a guy with a group of friends, someone twice his size or, in a couple of cases, a bouncer didn't matter. 

It was a self-deprecating and masochistic behaviour but when you had a habit like that since your teen years you couldn't just stop. John knew that the best.

He was swaying, dangerously close to the road. He couldn't find it in himself to care. The road he was on was fairly quiet around this time of night, with the exception of the occasional drag race or stoned group of friends driving way too fast on a backstreet.

John felt light-headed, high on his own misery. Or perhaps it was the fact that he had to skip dinner yet again. Or maybe beyond those two things it was simply because he had a half a bottle of wine instead of a meal. He chuckled slightly almost falling onto the road and most definitely falling into the gutter. Fell straight into a puddle that soaked his left shoe and got most of his lower leg damp. Dead leaves were stuck to his shoe and he vaguely remembered he had a still-life project due for his fine-arts class.

He bent down to pick it up when a car went past. It soaked his face and his hair that had started to frizz as it dried, stuck to his face once again.

"Get out of the way asshole." One of the kids in the passenger seat shouted, head stuck out the window. He was laughing like a maniac. His friends were howling with him but it wasn't like they were laughing at John. Instead, it was like he was merely an inconvenience to their self-made party.

He didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry so he settled on a frenzied laugh that came out more like a sob. His phone buzzed in his pocket but he didn't want to answer. Didn't know if he could. Was surprised that it hadn't died from the stream of water that the puddle launched onto it that was soaking it. Relieved when he realised he wouldn't have to fork out more money he didn't have on another phone.

 

So he found himself in a 24-hour coffee shop. It was called the Liberty Square Diner, and sure, it was a little strange considering they lived nowhere near Miami. But it made him think of the movie he had watched when his father was away, door locked and on the small screen of his laptop.

Suddenly he wanted to be happy and sad and nostalgic and stuck all at the same time.

He walked in and took a seat. It was a small, retro, corner diner with waitresses that dressed in those short black dresses with white collars and high heels. It was a little on the kitschy side, with its loud colours that didn't quite match. 

It was an odd mix between vintage and modern. There was a jukebox in the corner but also a tv screen hung on the wall showing reruns of old game shows. Pastel colours were combined with newly painted reds and bright blues. And it all clashed terribly but he had already grown fond of it.

He didn't want to walk in without order, didn't think they'd let him get away with it. So he ordered some greasy fries with a coupon he had found on the ground a couple of weeks ago that he stashed away in his wallet.

It was late. Pulling out his phone he realised it was a quarter past one. Looking around, there were only a few customers. The waitress that took his order brought over his fries after a few minutes.

''Sorry for the wait, we only had cold ones so, y'know..." She looked a little shy, a contrast from the bright red lipstick that painted her lips.

"Yeah, it's fine,'' he mumbled. She looked a bit distraught, not really knowing what to do.

"Thanks though, for the thought," he looked at her chest -- felt a little weird -- and added, "Maria."

She smiled and it was then that he noticed how pretty she was, in a purely aesthetic way. She was dressed up in the usual work uniform and wore dark eye bags.

But she looked proud. And that was something that John couldn't say he felt.

Popping a fry into his mouth he looked around at the other customers. They were the type of people you'd see at 1:30 in the morning. There was a businessman. His suit was dishevelled and his briefcase sat across from him like a missing lover. He looked tired but he guessed that everyone here did. The man wore a heavy tiredness combined with that satisfied with how life was going attitude. Nothing exciting but a stable, comfortable routine.

He pulled out his laptop and slumped into his hand. The man started typing before dissolving into a coughing fit. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and started wheezing. John flinched, feeling sorry for the man and thanking whatever higher powers that he hadn't gotten sick yet from being in a constant state of wet and tired. That's when John realised he was probably too invested in this strangers life.

A sharp laugh filled his ears, coming from the left. He shovelled in more fries and turned slightly to look. A couple sat in one of the booths. The girl that laughed was cross-legged in a chair. She wore a baby blue dress but despite it being so late -- or rather, early -- she didn't look cold.

He realised that they too looked tired though in a very different way to both the businessman and him. He was learning that ‘tired’ really could mean anything. The woman in the booth looked tired but in that way you felt after a long road trip at night. 

The way you felt when you dozed off listening to the radio, waking up after a short nap only to feel like it was hours. When you looked at the window, slightly fogged up from the warm breathing in the car. Raindrops on the glass and neon signs shining brightly as you passed. 

John was longing for memories he didn’t have. Memories he wished he could’ve experienced in high school but was instead too angry, too sad, too empty. Felt too much of everything except for a happiness he wasn’t sure existed.

''I swear Maria, you could write a book," she was still laughing but toned it down, presumably for the sake of the rest of the customers. John was thankful, not because her laugh was shrill or annoying but more because of the warmth and compassion that practically radiated from her.

"The amount of shit people say when they're tired," Maria said, shaking her head slightly. She tried to sound sullen but the small grin on her lips said otherwise. "I know people say that alcohol is the truth serum but nothing beats the things that come out of a tired man's mouth."

The girl in blue put her hand on Maria's hand that sat on the table and smiled. ''When do you get off?''

John looked away. He felt like he was interrupting something too intimate, something meant for just the two of them. He looked back to the businessman he saw before. He was smiling now, nothing over the top but a small grin had settled onto his lips. He was talking on the phone, still trying to type out the email but looking a lot more lively. John was happy for him -- he had always been too compassionate for his own good -- but also felt a little sad. It felt like he was the only person who couldn't be happy. Logically he knew he was wrong and most definitely being over dramatic. So he settled for sighing into his hands. 

"Yeah, I love you too Thomas, see you later." That was the icing on the cake.

It felt unfair. Not only because he hadn't been told that since his mother died, or even because he hadn't dated since he was in high school. It was simply because here he was, in a diner at nearly two in the morning, in a city he was unfamiliar with. Barely scraping by and without the support of his family. He was alone and suddenly he was longing for someone.

 

He could've laughed at how coincidental it was. As he was wallowing in his own self-pity a man burst through the door, almost like he owned the diner. And John thought that maybe he did, walking with his head up and shoulders back. Confidence practically radiated off him. 

He started talking immediately.

"Ah Maria, thank the lord that you're working tonight. The cafe I was at -- you know, the one near the college -- they cut me off. The staff actually cut me off. From fucking coffee. Can you believe it?"

John couldn't keep up. Between the words flying out of the man's mouth and how he looked, John was... enamoured, for a lack of a better word. He was wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a baggy sweater that looked to have a college logo on it. A scarf was haphazardly slung around his neck, like an afterthought.

"And I told them, 'what does it matter if I've already had eleven cups of coffee? As long as I'm paying y'all should keep on serving.' Oh, and then -- this is the good part -- then the waitress serving me called the manager."

His hands were flying as he tried to tell his story as quickly as possible. John wasn't even sure if he'd taken a breath yet. He looked over to the rest of the customers, none of which seemed concerned at all.

Maria rolled her eyes, "Maybe you should've come here first then."

"Oh, I would've, trust me but-"

John heard a cough coming from the businessman. This time it sounded less like he was dying and more like he was just irritated.

"Madison, didn't see you there."

''Of course you didn't," the businessman replied dryly.

Rather than answering, he went straight back into his seemingly endless rant.

"I was on my way here when I got a call from Washington. He asked me to check some emails etcetera, so I ducked into the nearest coffee shop and kinda, stayed there?"

Maria had long since poured him a cup of coffee and was patiently listening to him, hands under her chin.

The man kept talking, either blissfully unaware of how inpatient she was getting or didn't care. When there was a lull in the one-sided conversation, she poured him another cup of coffee.

"You know what Alexander, that guy over at table fourteen," the man that John now had a name for looked over. John swallowed when he realised he was staring. Nearly choked on thin air when he saw what number his table was. "He's been alone all night and I'm sure he would love to hear about the nations disarray coming up to the next elections."

The man smiled at her, almost sheepishly.

"Thanks for putting up with me. Best of women you and Eliza are.''

Eliza grinned radiantly from her seat, "We know, now give my future wife back.

Maria shot John a remorseful look, mouthing the words ‘I’m sorry’ before heading over to Eliza. He frowned slightly before ducking his head back down.

John was vaguely aware of Alexander making his way to his table. He wasn't exactly sure as he had resigned himself to staring at the few cold fries left on the tray in front of him.

"Wow."

John looked up, which was probably a mistake. Alex was beautiful, there's no doubt about it. If John was feeling better he would've tried more. Would've dressed better before going out, had a shower, done something with his hair. If John wasn't feeling  _ so damn tired _ he would've smiled, perhaps even suggestively. But today wasn't that day. And he doubted tomorrow would be either. 

He was stuck feeling empty and too big for his body.

The man slid into the seat across from John.

"I mean, you looked good from back there but it's nothing compared to how stunning you are up close. Have you always had so many freckles? I heard that some people acquire more as time goes on."

He leaned across the table, hands lifting to touch John's cheek. Any other time he probably would have blushed. Instead, he flinched. He knocked his elbow on the side of the table and inhaled sharply.

"Shit, oh god, fuck, I'm sorry. Are you okay?''

"M'fine, I just..." he felt bad. Alexander looked as if he'd just kicked a kitten.

"You know, I get told I come on a little strong but I never had anyone react like that."

Eliza looked over from her table with Maria, half amused half worried. "Finally found someone immune to your charms?''

Alexander threw her a mocking glare but turned his eyes back onto John. ''Seriously though, are you okay?"

"Yeah, sorry.'' He felt guilty. It wasn't Alexander's fault. In fact, he found the man positively interesting. Would love to get to know him better just, under better circumstances.

"Well, uh I actually don't know what to do now." He gave a nervous chuckle.

"The great Alexander not knowing what to say? This is a miracle. I'll have to report this to Thomas at once." The man in the suit said dryly followed by a couple of wheezes.

"I think that's the most I've ever heard you say." Alexander shot back, "And another thing, I'm beginning to think y'all are just trying to make me look bad." He half pouted.

The man in front of him turned his full attention back onto John. He had a twinkle in his eye and any other time John would ask him to take him to bed. 

But depression made him feel more than just empty or sad. His hobbies had taken a back seat to sleeping or fighting, depending on the mood he was in. Subsequently, he hadn't had sex for a while. Even masturbation felt like too much effort most days.

“Uh sorry, maybe I should leave.” John was shaken out of his daze. He looked up at Alexander who looked a little sad. John always thought he was a fairly nice person. Someone who cared for other people and whilst he wanted nothing more than to comfort this stranger who had already found a small place in his heart, he found himself lost.

“Sorry, what?”

“You, uh, don’t look too interested.” He was rubbing his neck nervously and well, John had never been good with words. Never been able to comfort people. Couldn’t do anything but hug his sister after everything she went through, couldn’t write flowery love letters to boys, or try and persuade his dad let him stay and above everything  _ just love him dammit because that’s what fathers were supposed to do.  _

No, he could never do anything but speak brashly. Give him paper and a pencil though and he could draw. Draw fantasy worlds for his siblings when they had nightmares. Draw the pretty boys that looked at him and made his heart flutter back when such a thing was possible.

“It’s not you,” he whispered quietly. He wasn’t even sure he’d said them until Alex look at him as though he was a lost puppy. That’s when he had to go. The looks from everyone, the neon lights from outside, the pity that Alexander was giving him. It was too much. 

So he left. Apologised quickly, said it several times on his way out. He wasn’t even sure he knew what it was for. For letting Alexander down, for bringing down the mood, for disturbing the other customers. _For being there._

 

He snickered under his breath when he realised what he had done. Ran away from his problems, again, like that’d fix them. Just like he ran away from his classes until his college told him they were letting him go so they could focus on more “driven and motivated people” in their own words. Just like when he had run away from home, except it was a much less romanticised version than most people had made it out to be. 

Point is, John Laurens was scared of confrontation. Quick to run his mouth but a procrastinator when it came to actually fixing his problems.

He was tired, heart heavy as he walked back to his shabby apartment complex. He wasn’t sure if he actively wanted to die tonight. Regardless, he walked in the middle of the road all the way back. He was almost disappointed when he got back to the complex without so much as a scratch. 

To make matters worse he apparently forgotten his keys and in a short burst of rage, kicked the concrete wall of the building. Tears budded in his eyes. Was almost tempted to let them fall when he heard a woman cackling on the other side of the street leaning into a scrawny guy with tattoos on his face. 

He sighed repeating the phrase to himself like a mantra.  _ Boys don’t cry. Boys don’t cry. _ He didn’t think he really believed it. Boys could cry, had cried, in front of him. It wouldn’t make them any less of a ‘man’, whatever that meant anyway.

It’s just that it was different for him. He knew he was a boy, knew it since he was young. But not everyone else was convinced. And sometimes there would be this voice in his head that told him no matter what he did, he’d never get there. Never fully be a man, even after he forked out thousands on surgery. Or he would read something in the media about concerned parents citing sketchy doctors about how trans people didn’t actually exist; “It’s just something they make up, to make themselves feel different, feel special." 

The worst times were when he would remember something his father would say because no matter how humiliated John felt around him, he was still stuck on this notion of what a father should be like. How his father should be like.

 

It took several moments for John to calm down enough to ring the intercom. It took several more moments for the landlord to answer.

“Who is it and how can I help?” He managed to sound less stoned than he probably was and it struck John that he was most likely worried someone had called the cops. Wouldn't be the first time and certainly wouldn't be the last.

“Uh, it’s just me.” His voice sounded scratchy and he mentally cursed himself for not clearing his throat.

“Fuck’s sake John, what do you need?”

He cleared his throat, “I left my keys in my room.”

For a moment he thought the guy was going to leave him to sleep on the streets but after a few moments, he heard a buzz and then a click. When he got inside the door his landlord all but threw a spare key at him.

For the infinite time that night, John thought to himself;  _ I’m exhausted _ . Sleep came easily to him. Not because he didn’t have anything on his mind but rather because his body was practically begging him to sleep. A brief thought about letting himself be happy crossed his mind before he fell into that half asleep, half awake state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fic title is from the album You Forgot It In People by Broken Social Scene. if you don't go listen to the full thing you're doing yourself a disservice.
> 
> chapter title is from Cause = Time off the same album.
> 
> i think i'll try and update around once a week if i can keep it up. i've got a couple more chapters already written but i'm gonna be pretty busy in the coming weeks.
> 
> i'm sure i'll have more notes to add as the story progresses but thanks so much for reading.


	2. Sleep on the Floor, Dream About Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi all, here's another one.  
> i really hope y'all are enjoying it. if you are, it'd be great if you could leave a comment and a kudos.
> 
> Enjoy

John woke up the next morning with an incessant buzzing right next to his ear. He groaned, not wanting to get out of the little cocoon he had made for himself. It stopped and he thought he found relief but it started up again. He turned over a couple of times before reaching for his phone. He answered without looking at the contact but knew who it was after the first word left her mouth.

“Martha,’’ he breathed. Apparently, he had forgotten to close the blinds before going to sleep so the sunlight was pouring through at an alarming rate.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s nice to hear your voice too,’’ she mumbled. “Would’ve been nicer to hear it earlier or, you know, last night when I called first.’’

“Sorry I was…”

“I know, tired huh?” Her voice took on a softer and more gentle tone. She had always been the better once at comforting people. She made it feel as though she cared, no matter how small or trivial your problem was. Had a gentle tone without making it feel like she pitied you, because she didn’t.

“Yeah.”

The conversation turned silent, not in an awkward way, more like they were both just thinking.

“So, did you need something?”

She gave a sad chuckle. “No, I just- I missed you, Jack. Missed hearing your voice.’’

He hummed in agreement, absently picking at his wristband. 

“How are things at home?” He didn’t know if he even wanted to know but with a lack of anything else to say, the words made their way out of his mouth.

“Things are-”

“Good?” He supplied

“I was going to say quiet,” she said softly. “I’m not the only one who misses you, Jack, we all do. Even dad and I know that how he handled things wasn’t right but he does love you.”

That’s what made it harder for him. His father had made his life hell. If he was being honest, he was definitely a big part of why he came close to killing himself. But for every time he watched to punch or scream or shout at his father he also wanted to hug him or go on one of those hiking trips they went on whenever he had a break from work. How could he hate his father when he was left with as many good memories as bad? 

Besides, he lost his mother when he was young but hadn’t his father lost the love of his life?

“I know,” he whispered quietly. Because he did.

“How’s the big city treating you though? You know I worry about you there.”

“I’m fine, Martha, really.”

“I know. It’s just there are so many people there John, and I know you would take on the world if you could but you’re just one man.” She huffed, “Besides, because you’re  _ one of those homosexuals  _ as our dear father would say, I don’t want you getting like, beaten up because of it. I think that’s a valid concern.”

“I hear you but this is New York, Martha.” Despite how tired he was he still smiled a little when he said it.  _ The greatest city in the world.  _ “I’m more likely to get mugged back home for being gay if anywhere, you know that.”

She was quiet for a moment, “John Laurens, don’t you dare doubt me.”

He laughed a little, then she joined in. “Seriously though, I’ve done my research. The amount of crime in urban areas. Plus you’re way more likely to get catcalled or followed by creepy old dudes that aren’t even rich out there.”

Another quiet patch. “Maybe you should take a self-defence class.”

“Martha, I’m fine. Besides, I don’t have money for that.”

More quiet.

“You’re not the only one who worries though, how are you?”

He could almost hear her thinking. “I’ve really gotta go Jack but I’ll talk to you later okay?”

“Just, tell me you’re not gonna-”   


“Nope, nothing stupid. Just pick up when I call next, yeah?"

“Okay.”

They said their goodbyes, murmuring a chorus of  _ I miss you  _ and  _ I love you so much  _ before hanging up. John looked at his phone, saw that it was almost noon and thanked the lord that he didn’t have work today.

He wasn’t really planning to go anywhere today but he made a promise to Martha a while back that he would try and get better. So he got up, brushed his teeth, and reluctantly had a shower. When he got out, he tried hard not to look in the mirror and instead dressed in some nice clothes. He was sure he had read somewhere that dressing in clothes that made you feel good, increased your endorphins or something. By this point, he was willing to try anything.

  
  


The next day he woke up -- earlier, so he could get ready for work -- and repeated the same routine again. He couldn’t say he felt happy, or even any better than he had been feeling but it was nice to have some sort of stability in his life. 

  
  


He got into a familiar sort of routine for the rest of the week. It’s was boring, to say the least, but it felt like he was doing something, so that had to count for something. He got up each morning showered and dressed, even if he didn’t have work, Even tried to do something for himself each day.

So he was doing alright. He was in one of those phases where everything was just a little bit dull and a little bit empty. Still wanted to die -- thought a part of him always would -- but could see that things weren’t getting worse.

He practised basic hygiene -- something most people definitely took for granted -- and even managed to head to the gym. It left him at once feeling more and less exhausted.

But then the weekend came. And John knew that he should be looking forward to it. Weekends meant that he started work early but got to finish at a decent time. It also meant he still had enough time to get things done, if he had the energy. 

He knew that if it wasn’t for his rent, he wouldn’t have a job. So he was thankful, even when he didn’t want to go to work, that something forced him out of the apartment room.

He finished work that Saturday and he felt tired -- which is something that never left him -- and dejected. Of course, it made sense for him to go to the cheap bar that was a couple of blocks away, instead of practising some self-care like his high school counsellors used to tell him. He briefly wondered if anyone is really capable of taking good care of themselves, or if they’re just preaching the words so that other people will look at them and think they have their life together.

After a short walk in the cold  _ and god, he really should’ve worn something warmer,  _ he found himself at the door. The bouncer gave him a look that was half grimace, half ‘nice to see you’re still alive’. He was this big burly guy that looked like he could crush. His name was Hercules, what more did you need to know. But he always comforted John when he needed it or gave him a split lip, depending on John’s mood.

He even found out one night when he was drunk and lying face up on the cold ground, ice pack against his face, that Herc wanted to be a fashion designer. “I’m working on it,” he would say, “It’s just that New York isn’t what I expected it to be. There are so many people that come here chasing their dreams but really, only a small amount get there.’’

It reminded John that he wasn’t the only one having a hard time. And sure, Herc had told him that he’s satisfied “not quite happy yet but I’m working on it’’ but it forced him to realise that other people weren’t immune to the hard times.

John nodded, trying to summon a smile. Herc had this thing where he would tell the bartenders to cut John off after a certain amount if he thought he was coming to forget his life for a while. Sure, the bartenders usually cut him off after a certain amount anyway but by then he was normally pretty far gone. 

Herc folding his arms. “How you doing? Haven’t seen you for a while you know. A week? That must be a new record.”

John shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve been fine and I uh, guess I’m trying something new?”

“I wish I could say I’ve missed you -- which I have,” he interjected, “I’m just glad I haven’t seen you round here, at least.”

“Yeah, sorry.” He didn’t know what he was apologising for but it felt like he should.

“You don’t have to say that to me, just take care, okay?”

John nodded again, promising he would and slipped by when Herc opened the door. As soon as he walked in, he realised just how much he missed this. The music seemed to beat in time with the blood in his veins. He was acutely aware of his wrist growing itchy. 

He’d had never actually cut himself, something he was thankful for now, but he had spent long nights with a razor in hand. Eventually decided he didn’t want to be so melodramatic and put it down. Settled for going out and finding people twice as big, returning home with a split lip and purple face.

He snaked his way through the crowd, occasionally stopping to smile at or grind on a stranger. The music was loud and he could almost feel a headache coming along. Decided that he didn’t care.

He sat down at the bar, ordered a Sam Adams before asking for a shot. A nice looking guy came and sat next to him and John was suddenly aware of the man looking at him.

He downed another shot and looked over.

“It seems I got lucky tonight, belle,” he gave a smirk, one that reeked of confidence but not malice.

“Uh,” he didn’t know what to say. Much like when he was confronted with the erratic man from the bar, he was stuck for words. 

He was attractive for sure and he briefly wondered if perhaps he was in the mood to get fucked senseless tonight. The bartender came over and dropped off another shot on a napkin. He looked slightly concerned for a moment and John almost felt guilty. Almost.

“May I ask for your name?” He had a thick French accent and was dressed in ridiculously tight clothes. John wondered what was wrong with him. Wondered why he was having doubts about a man who was obviously into him. Blamed it on the depression and moved on, not wanting to dwell on it any longer.

“It’s... John,” he said awkwardly.

“John…” the man trailed off, as if he were just trying out the words. “I am Lafayette, oui?”

John gave a small smile, not really knowing what exactly he was supposed to do.

“Are you okay, mon cher?” He looked worried and John couldn’t help it when his stomach lurched. Didn’t want so many people looking out for him. It made him feel like they were just waiting for him to break down. 

“Yeah, m’fine,” didn’t say it loud enough. Had to repeat himself. He waved the bartender over again. She fixed him with another concerned look but still poured him the shot, told him it was the last one for a while though. He downed it, the liquid burning the back on his throat.

Lafayette looked amused, eyeing John while slightly twirling the fancy cocktail he had ordered. John grabbed his hand, hearing a surprised yelp and praying that he hadn’t made the stranger spill his drink. He had. Nearly burst into tears when he realised but managed to keep it under control.

“Oh god, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to I was just-”

“It’s fine John, really.” He looked sincere, “You know, I am quite fond of strong-willed men.”

John laughed. It wasn’t really much of a laugh, more like a small chuckle but the man beamed. John’s gut dropped. He could never say he loved or even liked himself. But in that moment, he really hated himself. He just wished he could be happy so others wouldn’t worry so much. So his family would be prouder. So he could go back to school and not disappoint his teachers. So maybe he could not be such a heavy burden. Be able to make friends without them showing him their pity or saying that they needed someone more light-hearted.

Maybe then he could give Lafayette his full attention and perhaps go home with him. Or even made an effort to talk to Alexander from the other night. 

Instead, Lafayette licked his lips, bringing John closer to him. He grinded up against Lafayette, the man’s hands on his hips, his own tangled in the taller man’s curls. Closed his eyes just to feel the sway of their hips. Could pretend that this was something he wanted, something he needed, like a desperate sort of cure.

John was suddenly aware of the sweat covering his skin. Aware of how close they were. Aware that Lafayette was getting increasingly hard, cock pressed against his black skinny jeans. And  _ oh god _ , he snapped open his eyes, aware of everyone around him. Caught a few people staring, mouths open and practically drooling and he felt sick. Felt like he needed to be at home. Felt like he needed a few more layers, like his body was too big for him.

He choked on a sob, tearing away from Lafayette like he’d been burned. Cursed himself because he just wanted a night where he could trick himself into feeling normal, _ dammit.  _ He didn’t spare a glance at Lafayette before stumbling through the rest of the strangers on the dancefloor. Thought he vaguely heard the man say something but didn’t stop to listen and certainly didn’t go back.

His vision was a little blurry, from the drinks and the fact that his eyes had watered up again. He burst out the entrance, knocking into a few people on the way and muttering more sorry’s than was necessary. But he was finally outside and he could finally breathe. Took a few deep breaths and tried to calm down. His eyes darted around before settling on the few stars in the sky that hadn’t been drowned out by all the light.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Went to punch the person before having his hand stopped by Herc. He shuttered. What from, he’s not sure. The cold? The contact? Perhaps it was just everything John was feeling. He wondered if apathy was better than this. Couldn’t answer the question because as much as he hated feeling sad, and weak, and small, he also loathed the days -- sometimes weeks -- where it felt like he couldn't feel anything at all.

“Hey, what’s wrong man?”

John couldn't answer, wouldn’t know where to start. So he settled on raking a hand through his hair and took a few deep gulps of air. There are few people around at the moment and for that, John’s thankful. Also thankful for Herc. They’re not friends, more than acquaintances, but he’s patient and always urges John to talk to him if he needs.

“I just, thought I wanted this.” Wanted to say more but didn’t know if he could trust Herc with all his baggage, didn’t think he deserved to be weighed down like that anyway.

Herc fit him with a disappointing look. John figured it wasn’t supposed to look like that. Logically he knew that the broader man was just worried, just looking out for him, but it felt more like he was letting him down. John hated the feeling. Wanted to chase the feeling away with more alcohol. More punches. Wanted to hit something till his knuckles bled raw and red. Decided against that. Didn’t want to let Herc down any more than he had already.

“You know I’m just worried right? I know you, John, you do stupid shit to make yourself feel alive but it’s gonna be the death of you one day.”

John knew he had a point, knew he was right. But he was a proud man and there was no way he could admit it out loud when he barely wanted to admit it to himself.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, “Yeah, I know.” He felt his blood boil. “But you’re really not in any position to be lecturing me.”

“I’m not trying to lecture you, I’m just worried-”

“Why?” John felt his arm twitch. His wrist started getting itchy again and he knew Herc could tell he was gearing up for a fight. He did feel guilty but decided if he was going to burn his bridges, he might as well burn them all. “We’re not friends. I come here to get fucked up and you let me in. It’s business. You don’t invite me over for tea and fucking crumpets.”

“John-” Herc started.

“No. You don’t get to act like you fucking care,” he spat. “Not when I have to deal with all of this shit alone and the only time I get the tiniest bit of solace is when I’m here. You don’t get to take that away from me.”

He knew he shouldn’t keep talking. He was probably garnering unnecessary attention and was pretty sure he felt hot tears run down his face.

“You’re either in for the full ride or you stay the fuck out of it. You can’t have it both ways.”

He knew it was unfair, that Herc only wanted to help. But he had a routine of pushing away those who actually cared and it was a hard habit to kick.

Luckily, somewhere inside his head, he decided it was a good idea to some damage control. So he left. Turned on his heel before he could get a punch in and actively ignored the hurt pleas of the man he left behind. 

 

 

His throat was raw by the time he got home. Swallowing half choked sobs, he managed to get the key in his door on the third try. He dropped straight onto his bed, not bothering to change or shower. Thought if he was going to be sad, he’d at least do it the right way. 

Thoughts of Herc drifted through his head. The hurt look he was given stung. Then there was the fact that the bouncer really was the only person outside his family and work colleagues that he talked to on a regular basis. 

Felt like throwing up based on that alone. Wondered why he had to ruin everything good he was given. Simply blamed it on his personality and self-destructive nature.

Then he thought about Lafayette. Didn’t think someone as pretty as he was could exist. He thought of the touches, how they burned when they should’ve felt nice, he should’ve felt wanted. It hurt to think about. What did Lafayette think? Did he stay in the middle of the dance floor, wondering what happened to John or just move on to another person there? God knows the man could’ve had anyone there.

Thinking about Lafayette also made him think about Alex. It was strange how different they were and yet, there was a similar energy between the two. He remembered the way Alexander walked into the diner. The way he talked without stopped until someone butted in. Again, he found himself wondering what the man thought of him, if he thought about him at all. 

He didn’t know if he wanted Lafayette and Alex to even be thinking about him. Sure, he liked feeling wanted but knowing him, he’d screw up any chance with them. Decided it was best if they just moved on from him. It still hurt.

He didn’t want to think anymore and although he knew it was a bad idea, downed a couple more shots of tequila before blacking out on the kitchen floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title is from the song Anthems for a Seventeen Year-Old Girl which is a hella good song. it's also on the Scott Pilgrim vs. the World soundtrack (which everyone should watch. it's fun and it's got Michael Cera in it).
> 
> i've had an awful week and exams are coming up which just makes it better. but the story's finally progressing which is kinda exciting.  
> thank you to everyone who actually reads this fic, it seriously means a lot.
> 
> take care everyone. it's mainly a reminder for myself but if you're feeling shitty, remember to take care of yourself first.


	3. Help This Love Before You Leave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologise in advance for the depictions of what the south is like. i've never been to america before, much less the southern states. i did a little bit of research on what it's like and it mainly came up with barbeques, hot weather, and sports.  
> thanks for reading though.
> 
> Enjoy

The first thing John noticed when he woke up was something cold pressing against his cheek. He opened his eyes slowly, still thick from sleep, and noticed that he was pressed against the kitchen floor. 

He cursed himself and bolted upright before cursing himself again. His head pounded, which was, of course, to be expected. He looked at the puddle of drool on the floor. Was briefly disappointed that he didn’t choke on it in his sleep. Mentally hit himself for thinking that. Tried to stop berating himself and think up some of the self-care practices he was taught to use in these instances. Came up with nothing.

He stood up slowly, learning his lesson that his head didn’t appreciate the treatment he had given. He took his shoes off and wiped up the drool with his socks before peeling them off and throwing them into his wastebasket. John didn’t really know why he bothered with the basket in the first place. Guessed it made him feel a little in control, a little put together.

The clothes and dirty dishes littered around his room said otherwise. 

He let out a sigh after remembering what happened yesterday but decided it certainly wasn’t the worst he had done. He found the coffee jug from yesterday morning that still had enough for a glass. 

Armed with his coffee and newfound painkillers he made his way to the shower. Stripped quickly and got into the shower without a single glance in the mirror. 

It was almost two in the afternoon but he still went through his morning routine. Have a cup of coffee. Take a shower. Wash hair. They were small, mundane tasks but by the end of his shower, John was feeling a little better. The painkillers were probably the things to thank.

The park that he liked to frequent was a little out of the way of his apartment. It was past main street, across from this middle-class residential area where kids would ride their bikes and scrape their knees after going through with a stupid dare. 

He told himself after leaving the blank canvases in his apartment that he was merely going out to look for inspiration. Knew that was a load of shit. Now, instead of drawing on every spare piece of paper he found, he could spend hours staring at a white canvas without so much a drawing a single line. His hands would shake and nothing that he wanted to paint would come to mind.

It was getting colder. The type of cold where putting on a sweater ensured you were cold but a coat on top was too much. His could see his breath leave a trail as he blew on his hands, trying to get warm. He couldn’t afford gloves.

 

Somehow, he had found himself back at the diner he went to last week. He had spent a few hours at the park, even managing to fall asleep, head against a tree trunk, before a kid nearly fell on top of him. Their mother apologised profusely, giving her kid a lecture as they walked off hand in hand. She wasn’t mad though, not really. John could tell. He knew what real lectures were. Knew what it meant to disappoint your parents.

He tried not to dwell on it but the truth was that he wanted something like that. Wanted to rewind back to his childhood, back to before his mother died. Wished that he was normal enough for his father. 

Or that his father simply accepted him, all of him, for who he was.

The diner took on a different tone at dusk. It was nearly dark, a small slither of light at the bottom of the horizon. The stars hadn’t yet come out but it was a pretty baby blue colour that reminded him of his younger brother’s baby shower. He felt himself getting bitter over it. Bitter that even before he came out of the womb he was decorated with pink. 

He tried desperately to practise some breathing exercises. Tried not to get overwhelmed and let it go instead.

“Oh, it’s you!” John turns around to face the man, “I’m glad I didn’t scare you away. Eliza and Maria have been giving me hell over it.”

When John gave the man a blank stare, he took it as a queue to continue. 

“You do remember me right? I pride myself on being unforgettable. What can I say, you either love me or you hate me but I’ll guarantee you won’t forget me. There’s a million things I haven’t done, but just you wait.

He gave John a wink and opened the door with his hips, hands full with coffee in one and a textbook in the other.

John followed, or rather, felt like he had to. He hadn’t forgotten how blatantly rude he was to the man the other night and wondered why he was being so nice.

As soon as he stepped in, he instantly felt more awake. There was a strong smell of coffee, something he missed the last time he was there, and the customers all chatted energetically, as if old friends that wanted to catch up on local gossip. John felt like an outsider but before he could back out, the man waved him over to a seat he secured by the window. He followed, not exactly sure why and sat down tentatively.

He noticed there were small specks of rain splashing softly onto the window. Could see his reflection that looked slightly distorted by the neon lights and rain. 

A waitress came over. He realised it was the same woman from before. Maria, he remembered, slightly proud that he didn’t have to look at her tag this time. Could save himself from making it seem like he was staring at her chest.

She gave him a small smile. Her lips wore the same red lipstick. He promptly decided it was her signature look.

“What can I get you?”

“Thank you for asking, my dear Maria. I would adore a cup of black coffee and perhaps some fries to go with it.” He downed the coffee in his hands.

Maria looked at him, scowling softly before jotting it down. She turned back to John, features softer.

“Was there anything you wanted, Mr…”

“Uh, just John’s fine.” He felt a little weird at such a formal title in a place like this. “And I’ll just grab a coffee, two creams, two sugars thanks.’’ He supplied his own smile, desperately hoping it didn’t come across as fake.

“Of course,” she smiled again, softly at John, warm and fondly at the man across from him.

“John…” the man said as his face broke out in a grin. John was reminded of Lafayette, and the bar, and the fight, and falling asleep on the kitchen floor. Wanted to shake it away. “It’s nice to have a name to match your face.”

A flirty smile flitted against his lips as he held his chin in his hand.

Maria came back and set down their orders on the table.

John felt awkward. “And you are?"

“Oh, right, Alexander Hamilton. But just Alex is fine.”

John nodded to show he was listening. It’s not as though this encounter, in particular, was a chore, it’s just that all social interaction lately felt draining to him. It felt pathetic to feel so tired all the time.  _ He felt pathetic. _

He looked up at Alex, exhaustion deep set in his face but conjured up a smile nonetheless. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Alex looked pleased with that and John couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t exactly been the most responsive guest.

He sat in the booth, sipping his coffee. Slowly he felt himself relax more and more. Alex didn’t talk as much as he thought he would. Perhaps he had gotten the hint that John wasn’t even aware he was giving. 

His fingers typed quickly against the keys, producing a constant, almost comforting sound.

It was fully dark outside now and John could almost make out some stray stars in the sky, though they could’ve easily been helicopters.

John wrapped his hands around the coffee in front of him, desperately trying to stave off any chills. The diner was relatively warm and his blood had a tendency to run hot. But he wasn't used to New York, the people or the weather, even after living there for months. Wondered if he'd ever get used to it. If he would ever be able to call it home. Sure, South Carolina was never a home to him, even when his mother was alive but New York was too different to what he knew. Wasn't sure if he liked it yet.

The rain was pouring at a steady rate now and everything felt on the soft side of real. The type of altered reality that came during the morning, waking up in an unfamiliar apartment, sunlight streaming through the curtains. The morning light always had a habit of making things seem more magical than they were, more desirable.

Suddenly, he felt nostalgic for memories he didn’t even have.

 

“I hate the cold.”

A mutter brought him back to the real world. He looked over to Alex to find that he too had his hands wrapped around his coffee, though John guessed with his limited knowledge of the man that it was at least his second or third.

He was looking out the window, eyes catching on stray raindrops that hit the glass near his line of sight. He looked a little tense. Made John frown slightly.

“Y’know,” his voice was a little raw. He cringed slightly before clearing his throat slightly. “There’s not supposed to be a storm tonight, just some light drizzle.”

Alex gave him an unreadable look before shaking his head slightly and giving a small smile. 

“Thanks,” he said. Probably more quiet than he meant to but he didn’t mention it so neither did John.

They sat in silence for a few moments. He noticed Eliza was giving Alex some concerned looks. He wondered just how close they were. Realised he didn’t know anything about him.

“I’ve never been much of a fan of the cold either,” he said, looking down. Didn’t know why his cheeks heated up.

“That makes sense. You’re from the South right? Your accent kinda gave it away.”

The change in demeanour shocked John. Alex was back to the man he first met, chatting away happily. It was like the quiet, almost nervous man didn’t exist. A trick that John’s mind played. But Alex went along with John’s change of subject, so he didn’t press it.

“Uh, yeah. South Carolina.” John wasn’t particularly fond of talking about his home but perhaps he wanted to help get Alex’s mind off whatever he was thinking about. Perhaps he was just a masochist.

“I’ve never been there myself, always wanted to though, even if it was just to punch all the stupid Republican Senators down there. What’s it like down there though? How do you deal with all those southern motherfucking bigots?” He paused, looked a little surprised. A little sceptical. “Wait, you’re not a Republican, are you? Oh god, I was really growing fond of you.”

John chuckled. It was small but the first real one he had given in a while.

“God no. That’s one of the reasons I left.’’ A small smile still ghosted his lips. 

Alex lit up at this so John took it as a queue to continue. “To answer your first question though, it’s hot. And racist.”

Alex laughed in the kind of way where your eyes go bright and the corners of your eyes crinkle up. It struck John that it was one of the most beautiful things he had seen for a while. He instantly wanted to see more.

“That sounds exactly what I thought of it. There must be more though, please tell me there are more things in the South that aren’t racist. Or hot, apart from the men down there.”

John gave him a pointed look. He was a little surprised that someone could be so open about their sexuality. Instantly admired him for it.

“The beaches are nice,” not that he was able to go to them, “And the hospitality's great, so long as you’re not apart of a minority.”

Alex laughed again. But he looked genuinely interested in what John was saying. Instead of fake laughs, Alex gave a real one. He looked at John with stars in his eyes and gave him eye contact that made him feel special.

“But maybe it’s just not for me. I mean, the barbeques, they're to die for and there’s a massive sports culture. It just feels-” he gestured wildly with his hands, “suffocating.”

Alex nodded like he understood and John thought that perhaps he did. Wondered where he was from to give him the slight accent he had. Didn’t ask about it. Felt like it wasn’t his place.

They fell into a comfortable silence after that. After hearing comments from the usual customers and what Alex had said about himself, he didn’t think it was possible for him to be this quiet.

His fingers tapped animatedly on the keys of his laptop. Sometimes he would pause to down his coffee — Maria was always there to refill it — or debate with one of the customers he wasn’t so fond of.

It was a therapeutic calm. Instead of wishing he could take the man to bed, he wondered what it would be like to have him next to his side during counselling sessions, talking to fill up the space when John couldn’t.

He almost slapped himself when he realised what he was doing. What he was wishing for. Didn’t think he could ever be that comfortable. Didn’t think he deserved it either.

The calm was gone in an instant. Instead, John found himself feeling cold. Not enough layers for weather like this. The rain outside seemed preferable to the almost suffocating warmth that the diner produced. Reminded him of the bar, the way the bodies crowded together to produce that natural type of heat.

He could briefly make out the sounds of a heater. His hands felt clammy, not because he was nervous. It just felt like he didn’t belong. Like he shouldn’t be bringing all his baggage into a place where so many giddy people were.

“Hey, you okay?”

Alex’s words brought him stumbling back to reality. Before he could stutter, Alex cut in again.

“It’s just- you seemed kinda distracted.”

John blinked in surprise. Thought Alex was so far into his essay that he wouldn’t notice. He knew retreating into himself wasn’t the way to cope with his feelings. Had been told constantly by those around him that he needed to talk more, to get it out. He knew they were right. Didn’t act on it though.

“Hmm? I’m fine."

"You sure? 'Cause you were gone for a few minutes there?"

"Yeah, it just- it just happens sometimes,” John mumbled.

“Hey, it’s fine you know. You don’t have to tell me anything.”

John looked at him funny. He was a strange man to say the least. All rough and raw edges glued together by determination. Alex was right when he said he had so much to do. In the short time John had known him, he had already exceeded his expectations. Writing furiously on his laptop, napkins, and even the table, now that he looked.

He had a feeling that when Alex also said _just you wait_ that he meant it. It was almost exciting seeing Alex write. The passion was almost contagious. Almost.

“You have everyone’s full permission to slap him if he gets too nosy,” someone called from back at the counter.

He looked over to see a woman wearing a pink blazer with matching dress pants. It was feminine but also practical. John had never seen her before but already knew that it suited her personality.

She flicked her hair in a way that made her look determined and sure of herself rather than pretentious. John already appreciated her for that.

“Actually, scratch that. It’d be funnier if you punched him."

He was a bit shocked by her candid tone but figured that they must have been friends of sorts by the way she was smiling at him.

“Angie! When did you come in? I didn’t even see you."

"You would've, had you stopped staring at your boyfriend."

By this point, John was just tired. He didn’t have any energy left to argue or even blush.

“I wasn’t- we barely know each other," Alex muttered finally.

"Wow, someone able to render Alexander Hamilton speechless? It’s a miracle."

"He did it last week too." Eliza was looking over at him with a soft smile, "Must be someone special."

John's heart sped up a little but he was determined not to give anything away. He was torn between wanting to get to know the enigma called Alexander Hamilton more and just curling up in his bed, going back to the same routine he had been stuck in for months.

"I’m hardly anyone you have to remember." He managed to keep his voice clear. Silently congratulated himself.

He got a frown from Alex. Looked over to the counter and was met with a small frown from Eliza and a curious glance from the other woman.

He realised that not everyone thought the same way he did. Not everyone wanted to die when they woke up in the morning. Most people had some level of confidence and self-esteem, some level of self-worth. Most people weren’t used to people saying things like that.

He felt bad for making the air so awkward.

“Sorry. I’ll just- I should leave now.” He got up quickly, heading to the door.

He didn't want to look back. Back at all the faces he disappointed. He briefly wondered if he would have to stop going to the diner. He thought it a shame, considering how fond he had become. Of the diner, the atmosphere,  _ the people. _

“Wait-” He turned to see Eliza. She was wearing blue again. Though this time something a little warmer; a sky blue, wool-knit sweater. It complimented her features. Made her look sweet, and kind, and caring. Just like John knew her to be.

“I’ll see you next time, yeah?” She looked a little uncertain and John all but melted. Not in the way where your crush looks at you with those __ eyes or when that guy in your class beckons you behind the bleachers. More the loving, warm eyes your mother gives you before calling you to eat dinner. 

Any psychology student would tell him that he had mummy issues. Probably daddy issues too. John wasn’t stupid. He knew he had problems with both parents. His mother for passing away before he even graduated middle school and his father for, well, being his father.

“Yeah, for sure.” 

He couldn’t say no, couldn’t just not show up. He turned and walked out the door. Gave a resigned sigh because even though he didn’t want to go back -- felt like they already knew too much -- he knew he would end there again.

Realistically he knew he was projecting his mother’s image onto Eliza. Maybe it wasn’t a bad thing though.

It was a cruel thing to have hope. It sat funny in the bottom of John’s stomach, heavy like a stone. It was a strange sensation to have after so many years of it missing. He didn’t know if he wanted to get used to it. Sure, he wanted to want to get better. It was just harder when it came down to practising the things that would help him get better. 

Eventually, he decided it didn’t matter what he thought of the situation. He was going to go back. Even if it was just to please Alex and Eliza and everyone else that gave the Liberty Square Diner that distinct, comforting feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uuh school has been awful lately, exams are kinda fucking me up.  
> i can't say i'm happy with this chapter but i never usually am so i hope it's alright. i have a bunch of other ideas for new fics just gotta get through school and some other shit first but hopefully i'll get more into writing soon.
> 
> anyway, someone told me today to try and drink some more water and i don't usually think about that very often but it does genuinely help, even if only a little. take care y'all.


	4. Swallowing Words While Giving Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, here's another chapter, even if it is a day late. there's no one really reading though so i guess it doesn't matter.  
> if you do read and like it, please give it a kudos and comment. seriously, i get unreasonably excited every time i see someone kudos, much less comment.  
> enough with that though
> 
> Enjoy

John woke up on the floor again. He had stumbled into his apartment the night before and didn’t make it to the bedroom. He had been feeling all right up until he got back to his place. When he opened the door though, something cracked. He had stumbled to the cupboard, grabbing the bottle of cheap vodka and took a couple of long swigs. He didn’t remember anything after his eighth, only wondering how it was possible to feel so empty.

It scared him when he got like that. Those were the times where he didn’t feel anything. Like it didn’t matter what he did. It scared him to think of what he might do.

But like always, the sun still rose. The cars outside his apartment complex still revved, coming to life. The birds were still chirping and the plants were still photosynthesising.

He felt a little pathetic, lying on his kitchen floor. His mouth was dry and tasted like slightly of vomit.

Sitting up was a bad move on his part he decided. His head pounded and he was a little surprised it hadn’t cracked open. John groaned, rubbing his head slightly. Already decided that today would be an awful day.

He didn’t have work till noon though. Checking the time he saw that it was only around ten. It a was surprise, to say the least. It had felt as though he had slept for days.

The first thing he did was take a shower, and _shit,_ he had forgotten to take off his binder before going to sleep. It wasn’t much of a surprise. The amount of doctors he had tell him over the years that he would end up with a punctured lung if he kept wearing them for too long.

It didn't matter to him. Was much more preferable than going out with lumps on his chest.

Getting out of his binder was a struggle. He gave a few stretches when he got into the shower. His curls were sticky with the dried vodka that had made its way into his hair. Arms ached as he reached up to wash his hair.

 

His apartment was a mess. He knew that. Coming out of the shower he had stubbed his toe on two different objects lying on the ground. He was stepping on top of clothes that should’ve been washed long ago. Empty takeout boxes littered the benches while finely made china were stacked upon each other, reminiscent of his days at home.

All of this was made worse by the stray paint that seemed to cover every piece of equipment he owned. Wet canvases were strung up on top of bookshelves made from cardboard boxes.

It was a sad reminder of what he used to have. No matter where he was, he had his art. Was able to paint and paint and paint until he had covered walls and sidewalks and sheets upon sheets of paper with distant memories and fantasy worlds.

He longed to have that back. For art to be a refuge again rather than a chore.

He told himself he kept the canvases there because he was working on them. Because he was going to sell them. Because he was working on a portfolio so he could go to college again.

The truth was he just wanted some reminder of home.

A reminder of who he used to be.

 

He tried cleaning up a little before going to work but he gave up after a few minutes. He dropped onto his bed, face first. The pillow was slightly suffocating him but he found that it was almost easier to breathe when he had a restricted amount. Would’ve almost fallen asleep if the phone in his pocket didn’t go off.

(Martha) 11:42 am: Mary wants to know when youre gonna make her some more art, says shes got too much blank wall space

Martha often texted him about what was happening at home. He appreciated it, knew it took her a lot of effort to keep in touch but was thankful. It allowed him to feel more at home, especially after his father said he didn’t want him around his younger siblings.

At the moment though, it just felt like more pressure. More pressure that he didn’t want and didn’t need. He sighed. Knew he should answer but didn’t know what to say. _Yeah of course! There’s nothing I’d love to do more!_

He was always a sarcastic person but knew he shouldn’t take it out on Martha. Especially because she was just trying to help him. Especially after all she had gone through.

John and her were both broken. Struggling with things that still had a stigma around them. Things that their father thought was easier to just ignore. John had grown up hearing that it wasn’t a sin if no one knew about it.

Almost started to believe it.

 

Nine o'clock couldn’t have come around quicker. Work was busy and he practically ran out of the store after packing up.

He was walking in the cool, night air. His pace was brisk. He wouldn’t admit it but he still felt a small pit of dread build in his stomach every time he had to walk alone at night. It was a stupid fear, especially considering how often he was forced to do it. Especially after sleeping on the streets and in shelters for months.

He pulled out his phone. The bright screen a stark contrast to the dark sky overhead.

(Martha) 12:02 pm: ok its fine. you didnt have to answer.

He read it, a small frown settling onto his face. He nearly dropped it when it started vibrating.

“Hey,”

“Hey.”

They were both silent for a long moment.

“I miss you.”

John nearly choked on a sob before realising he was still in public.

“You know I miss you too, right?” He fiddled with the wristband on his arm, thumbs padding over the words. “I just- I can’t go back.”

“I know. And you don’t have to apologise, ‘cus I know you were about to.”

He chuckled a little and so did she. It was nice. He liked her laugh. Missed seeing her throw her head back whenever she laughed and the way her eyes would crinkle up. It was rare but definitely something he never tired of. Would never tire of.

“I was actually calling because I convinced dad to let me go to New York for a couple of days. Said I wanted to scope out some colleges, see them for myself, get a feel for the place y'know?”

John nodded, knew she couldn’t see him but didn’t know what to say.

“But actually, I just wanted to see you.”

It made him smile. Sure, it was cheesy but Martha was all he had any more. At least it felt like it.

“I can’t believe he let you. He know you’re staying with me?”

Martha gave a sad laugh. “I kinda just avoided the question. Said New York was a big place.”

John stayed silent.

“So? Can I stay with you?”

“Of course, Marty. God, you didn’t even have to ask.”

Silence for a few moments.

“Good, good.”

He passed an old movie theatre. One of those retro ones that showed vintage, cult-classics. Bright lights surrounded the movie in question and big, block letters spelt it out. _Being John Malkovich._

“When are you coming?”

“Probably in the next month. Still gotta get it all figured out though.”

He kicked a stone on the sidewalk. Reached it then kicked it again.

“Ok, just let me know, yeah.”

“Of course.”

He kicked the stone a little too much to the left. It fell down the gutter and he mourned the loss for half a second before moving on.

She heard him sigh, asked him what he was doing. Said he just got off work and was heading home.

She had nothing else to say but offered to stay on the phone with him till he reached his place. He declined. Felt a little weak all of a sudden. Hated getting help. Hated wanting help.

So he trained his eyes on the ground. Didn’t look up when he heard whistles. Didn’t look up as he passed a busy bar. So he kept under street lights. Stayed in areas with lots of people in them. Had his hands in his pockets but kept his keys between his knuckles.

It was funny the way he craved fights. Went looking for them whenever he felt too much or not enough. Funny how he sought out shady men out the back of bars and rile them up, just to have the metallic taste on his lips. To feel his lips puff up and blood drip down his eyebrows.

Funny because most of the time he was scared. To talk to people, to speak his mind. Did it anyway of course but always felt that spike of anxiety. It was funny that he could barely walk in the dark alone but would happily beat up a group of people outside a shady bar.

So he made it back in one piece. Only having a few difficulties getting his breathing under control.

 

He worked the same hours the next day. Decided to go out again. Didn’t know exactly what he wanted, just couldn’t be alone.

Logically he knew he could go to the bar where he met the man with the French accent. Hadn’t stopped thinking about since that night but didn’t want to admit it.

Or he could go to the Liberty Square Diner. Even if Alex wasn’t there, he was sure that the other people there would welcome him. Eliza said it herself, _make sure you come back._ He turned the words over and over again in his head.

Instead, he walked dirty backstreets. Wasn’t looking for a fight but wouldn't say no if one found him. The rational part of his brain told him not to go down these streets. Not to even be out at all. To go back home -- if he could call it that -- and do something useful.

He kept walking.

 

Ended up near a rundown hardware store. Most of the lights on the street were broken except one illuminating the corner.

He was slightly disappointed he hadn’t found anyone on the way to give him some bruises. Wouldn’t admit it to anyone but it was less of getting into the fights and more about the marks he was left with. If he didn’t have some honour left, he would just let them have their way.

There were fading bruises on his collarbones and stomach. Loved to trace them when he was in the shower. A masochistic behaviour he couldn’t kick.

Then he heard laughing, and a car door shut. Looking over he wondered how he missed the figures on the corner.

With nothing to lose, he decided to walk over. His body was already gearing up for a fight. His knuckles had gone white and his shoulders were tense. He was itching for some sort of contact. Like any boy like him, he wanted to hear the crack of fists against a face. Wanted to watch the blood stream from their forehead and for them to spit out bloody saliva.

More than anything, wanted to feel it for himself. Wanted to hurt so badly he was incapable of feeling anything else.

“You okay darling?”

He didn’t remember making it closer to the corner. The voice got him out of his head, snapped him back to reality.

“You look a little tense.”

Embarrassed, he instantly relaxed and looked up at the face that was talking to him. It was a boy, dressed in far too little for a night like tonight. He could see him shivering slightly, holding onto his arms.

He was a few metres away from John, looking at him cautiously.

“Yeah.” He replied a little too quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just got a little caught up in my head for a bit.”

The boy relaxed a little and looked up at John. His demeanour instantly changed.

“Y’know, you’ve got a pretty nice face. I sure am a sucker for freckles.”

He gave John a sultry look. Even licked his lip in a way that was far too practised for a boy his age.

John realised what was going on before the boy said his next sentence.

“I’d be more than happy to go somewhere a little more private. Unless outside is your thing. Might even throw in a discount for such a pretty thing like you.”

John didn’t know what to say. When he saw them standing on the corner, he hadn’t thought they were hookers. Merely thought they were drunken friends who had gotten lost after a few too many drinks.

His mind couldn’t keep up. So he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Are you even legal?” He blushed, “I mean, legal age.”

When the boy just smirked at him, he tried again. “How old are you?”

“Is it really that important to you?”

John stayed silent.

“Fine. Sixteen, okay? But trust me, I can be older if you want.”

He felt his jaw drop. _Sixteen?_ It felt like something out of a young adult novel. Those types of books that exaggerated every event in so they would seem more interesting. So the readers could insert themselves into the narrative. So they could feel like they had a reason to be sad.

“No. No way. Sorry.”

The boy stood in front of him for a moment, unmoving.

“Fine. But you can still have a good time, yeah?”

His demeanour changed again. Changed from an unnervingly sexual one to something a mix between friendly and disinterested.

“Go ahead, tell me you type. I’ll find someone for you.”

John wondered for a moment. Wondered if he should go along with it. Thought that it would be best for him to just start walking and not look back. He barely had enough money to pay his rent. But then he’d just be alone again. For another night.

He took a shaky breath.

“First of all, at least eighteen. At least.” The boy gave a small laugh.

He thought of Alex. Knew it was gross, that he shouldn’t be thinking about a man he barely knew like this. Thought of his shoulder-length hair, the way it rolled over his shoulders. Thought of his big eyes and lashes to match.

Lafayette popped into his brain somewhere along the line but he just decided to roll with it. So he thought of broad shoulders and toned chest. Thought of dark skin and plush lips.

He realised he had gotten stuck in his head again. Realised he was staring into space again. Felt a blush creep onto his cheeks.

“Well, I like kinda long hair. Dark. And nice eyes,” he cringed a little at what he was saying, “I like a nice body.” He heard the boy speak a soft “who doesn’t” and continued describing the man in his mind -- a mixture between Alex and Lafayette

He felt beyond embarrassed that he was sharing all this with a stranger. Figured he probably wasn’t going to see him again anyway and tried to keep his anxiety at bay.

The boy smiled. “I know just the guy.”

He took John’s wrist and led him down the street onto an equally shady looking one.

This corner looked like it had a couple more people on it. He felt a little guilty but before he could wallow in it he was pushed nearly into another man.

“This one’s for you Pip.”

The new man -- and he hoped he was a man -- smiled brightly at him. The first thing he noticed were his eyes. They had so much depth to them. Felt like he could get lost.

John felt his cheeks heat up again. Didn’t know how much more embarrassment he could take tonight. When he looked around though, he noticed that no one was really looking at him. Got a few glances but they just went back to what they were doing. Some talking, others up at car windows.

“You wanna get outta here?”

He nodded. Felt extremely thankful that he was straight to the point.

 

They walked with arms linked. It felt a little stupid but the man insisted on it. He led John a little, humming under his breath slightly.

“May I ask for your name stranger?”

“Uh, John.”

“John? John, it is.” Reminded him of the way Lafayette had said it. Though, missing that distinct French accent.

He smiled brightly at him. “I’m Philip. You can call me Pip if ya want or something else, though if it's something kinky, it might cost ya extra.”

It made John come back down to reality.

“Oh yeah, how much does this,” he gestured slightly, “Y’know, cost.”

Philip laughed. ”Depends on what you want.”

“Honestly? I don’t have a lot.”

He laughed again, more of a giggle, that John found oddly endearing. “Neither do I. But the starting cost is 20 for a handjob, 30 for blowjobs. If you’re looking for a quickie it’ll be $60.”

John felt something flip inside him. He was relieved that he was passing so well as a guy but that brought its own set of problems. Did he trust Philip to not be disgusted with him? Did he even want it? It was always so confusing to not know whether he didn’t want sex because he didn’t want it, or if it was because he just hated his body.

He stopped abruptly, Philip looked at him. John swore he saw a little bit of concern.

“Where are we going?” He tried to keep the accusation out of his voice.

Philip frowned a little. “I’m not actually sure. You just looked pretty nervous so I wanted to get you outta there.”

John ignored his concern. “Do you ever go to your client's houses?”

“They usually have a car for it, but a couple of times. As long as I don’t get that vibe from them, y’know?”

“I don’t have a car,” John admitted.

“Take me to your place then, it’ll cost a little extra though.”

 

They walked in relative silence for a while. John took it as a chance to look at the man. He was everything he had described to the other boy. Somehow though, it all felt a little different. He had nice lips and a nice body and pretty eyes. He wore shoulder-length hair that surrounded his face. He even had a few freckles scattered on his face.

It wasn’t Alex though. And it wasn’t Lafayette.

As they neared his house, John remembered. “You are older than eighteen right?”

“Is eighteen alright? My birthday was a couple of months ago.”

John nodded and took him up to his room. It felt like forever ago since he was on that corner but looking at his phone only fifteen minutes had passed.

Philip took off his faux fur coat and slightly heeled boots. Chucked them over the chair.

John had managed to clean his room a little but it wasn’t anything amazing. There were still clothes littered in areas and his canvases stood proudly where he didn’t. But the dirty dishes were gone and he could see the floor.

“This place looks like shit.”

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Anyway, you gonna strip or what?” He had already taken off his shirt and admittedly, John’s mouth watered a little at the sight. He knew an attractive man when he saw one. “I’m not an escort y’know.”

John decided that Philip was a strange mix of brash and considerate. Even within the short time John had known him, he was always straight to the point. But then there were the moments where he laughed or said something that made John know that he genuinely cared about people. He was thankful.

“Uh,”

“Look, John, you seem nice enough, you really do. But if you want someone to talk to and cuddle and massage you, you’ve really got the wrong person.

Silence for a moment.

“Can I suck you off?” John felt a little suffocated. He loved sex. Loved the stench of sweat and cum afterwards. Loved the moans that escaped people and their face when they let go. But he wasn’t sure he could handle that tonight. Liked the fact that people thought of him as a boy. Wanted to keep it that way.

People had a funny way of changing at the last minute. Could present themselves one way and become exactly the opposite without a moments notice. 

Realistically, he should’ve apologised to Philip and asked him to leave. But he was craving closeness and intimacy and the warmth of someone near him. Didn’t have the energy to find it in a healthier way.

Philip looked surprised. He was speechless for a moment and it made John want to jump out the window or walk straight through the door and not come back. Hell, Philip could keep it. Anything to save him from his embarrassment and the way his cheeks heated up.

“I mean, sure. If that’s what you wanna do.” His head was crooked to the side and he still looked a little disbelieving.

John didn’t say anything. Nodded instead.

Philip sat himself on the bed. Spread his legs wide enough for John to fit between them and settled back onto his hands. Looked down at John a little cocky, soft smile settling on his lips, a contrast to the look he was giving John. He hadn’t undone the tight jeans he was wearing so John took it as a cue to undo them himself.

He took Philip into his mouth, hands at the base of his dick and massaging the tip with his tongue. John took his mouth off for a moment, using the time to stroke it with his hands instead. Looking up at Philip, he saw the man with his head thrown back, elated look on his face. He had flushed cheeks that only seemed to bring out his freckles.

He picked up the pace with his hands and several exaggerated moans left the man’s mouth. John frowned a little. The whole scene felt a little too much like a porn scene. He was feeling himself getting a little detached from reality. Decided instead, to swallow Philip's dick, right to the base. He must have shaved before working. It was a pleasant change from most of the blowjobs he had given in his lifetime.

His throat convulsed at first before he settled down. Stayed there for a while, letting the drool pool in his mouth. Felt it slowly drip past his lips. Decided he liked the feeling of having his breath cut off. Loved the way it made his head pound. He wondered why he hadn’t explored that part of himself before. Guessed it was because he hadn’t wanted to admit it until now.

John was vaguely aware of Philip’s breathes becoming more and more uneven. Was determined to stay right where he was. His head was pounding, almost to the point that it hurt and _god,_ he couldn’t breathe. But he wasn’t panicking. Felt good to let go for a bit.

And then Philip was pulling him off. John choked before heaving in a few deep breaths. He wiped the drool away that had gathered on his chin.

“Christ, John, what the fuck. Are you okay?”

“M’fine.” He looked up at Philip who was staring at him with an unreadable expression. “Why’d you pull me off?”

“Uh, ‘cause you were gonna choke yourself?” It was phrased as a question.

He looked down at Philip’s dick, still hard. “Can you finish? On me?” He felt disgusting asking for it. With a bit of luck though, he’d never see him again.

Philip didn’t press it. Waited a moment before he started stroking himself. John nestled himself between his legs, gently biting his thighs. He heard a moan, one that sounded a little more genuine. Only took a few strokes on his hand before streaks of cum were plastered on John’s face.

John closed his eyes, relishing in the moment for a while. He heard the blankets crumple and opened his eyes. Philip had laid down fully on the bed. A sigh made its way from his lips.

“God, that was- that was great.” He chuckled a little and looked at John, “haven’t had something like that for a while.”

John let himself smile. It wasn’t anything big but he could say he felt genuinely happy.

“Yeah, uh, that was good.” He still felt a little light-headed. Philip hadn’t moved from his bed, instead, he was looking almost expectantly at John.

“Shit,” he took out a few bills from his pocket, “Sorry I forgot.”

He rubbed his neck, felt awkward after what transpired. Knew he was probably the only one.

Philip only grinned at him. “Thanks. And you know, if you ever wanna do this again,” wrote down his number on a stray piece of paper, “I’d be more than happy for you to call.”

He gave John a peck on the cheek, whispering something about how _I don’t usually do that_ before heading out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know how it took me long to realise that this fic doesn't really have a plot. it was originally supposed to be a one-shot but look how that turned out.  
> i updated the chapter to end at 9, i might add an epilogue if i feel inspired. anyway, i have a bunch of other fics planned, ones with actual plots, just gotta finish this one first.
> 
> As a side note, i did a little bit of research into what street prostitutes get paid and it can be extremely low for how dangerous it is. i tried to be as accurate with the costs as possible but it depends a lot where you're working.  
> I don't plan to go into too much detail about Philip's work but there will be a few more mentions.
> 
> take care and stay safe y'all


	5. We've Got a Menstruating Disguise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sitting on this chapter for so long I can barely remember the actual plot

John woke up to his stomach feeling like it was shredding itself apart. He hissed in pain. Managed to down some painkillers - that he thought he may have been a little dependent on - and warmed up a heat pack he had beside his bed.

He had the day off. Wanted to make the most of it but also felt that deep-set tiredness. But he remembered Martha, how much she was trying for both herself and John. Thought of Hercules, about how long it had been since they had a conversation that didn’t involve arguing. Naturally, he also thought of Lafayette and how he looked on the dancefloor. Wondered if he would see him again. His thoughts drifted to Alex as well. Drifted to the whole diner and the atmosphere it managed to create.

He had always had attachment issues, would be the first one to admit it. Got hooked on the pretty boy that served him his coffee that one time, who gave him a grin along with his change, even though that was his job. Got hooked on the cute boy in his class all those years ago who politely smiled at John whenever they would pass each other in the hall.

Just got hooked on boys.

He wouldn’t even say he had a type. Being in the closet for all those years really made him appreciate any boy that looked his way.

And then he felt a cramp cut through him and he felt dysphoric all over again. Coming out as gay was nowhere near as hard as it was to tell his dad that he wasn’t his little girl anymore. 

And maybe he couldn’t call himself gay when he looked at his naked body in the mirror. Felt like he couldn’t say it when he was having his period. Knew it wasn’t true, that he was just as much of a man as Alex or Lafayette or Herc. It was just that some days it was harder to believe than others.

The skies were dull and grey when he headed out. He didn’t have a destination in mind, just needed to get out of his place for a while. Away from the judgy stares of the blank, white canvases.

\--

New York was as busy as ever, even on the backstreets and more suburban parts of the city. The cars rushed by with their headlights on, the lights blurring slightly when John looked at them. He watched through hazy eyes. New York never stopped, and sometimes, the atmosphere was suffocating. 

Before he realised it, he found himself at the bar he frequented. He didn’t know why his subconscious pulled him towards it. Didn’t think he wanted to get so drunk he could barely walk home. Knew for certain he didn’t want to do it at such an early hour of the evening. Five o’clock was far too early to want to forget.

Then he saw Hercules and knew why. He wasn’t sure the man would even want to see him and then he remembered all the times Herc all but pleaded for him to just talk to him.

Herc looked at him, a question already forming on his lips.

“Hey,” John breathed out quickly. 

He felt awkward, like he should apologise for the last time they saw each other. He was never good at apologies though so instead he just shoved his hands into his pockets, kicking a stone on the sidewalk.

“Hey.” 

John didn’t look up.

When he didn’t say anything, Herc continued. “You don’t usually come round at this time,” he paused. “Did something happen?”

“No, I uh- I came to see you.” He looked around for another stone on the ground. When he couldn’t see any he settled on playing around with the wristband he always kept on. Gave him a little bit of comfort.

“Oh.” Another pause. “Look, John, I’m really sorry about what I was saying the other day, I just- fuck. I worry about you man.”

John finally looked up, a little surprised that he was the one apologising.

“It’s not your fault, you know.” Because it wasn’t. John just wished he could let other people look after him for a bit. “I know you were just trying to help.”

The air felt a little too awkward and the tension a bit too thick. “You know me, ‘m always fucking things up.” He gave a dry chuckle.

It was a poor attempt to relieve the mood and John knew he had said something wrong. Knew by the frown that tugged at Hercules’ lips. But he let it go and John was thankful for that. Herc usually knew when to press and when it was best to just let things run their own course.

“Well, I get off in an hour. Y’know, if you wanted to do something.” He looked like he was really trying. Made John feel a little bad. He could say he wasn’t feeling up to going out, but then again, when was he?

So he stayed, sitting down on the curb that Herc had a frowned a little at and muttered something along the lines of don’t go dying on me, you crazy motherfucker. They talked more about things that probably didn’t matter. 

Every now and then a customer would come up to Herc and show him their id. It wasn’t often though. Just the occasional customer who looked more on the sophisticated end of the spectrum, a slight sadness hanging off them. The bar, although not in the best neighbourhood, was surprisingly nice.

When Herc finally got off, they fell into an easy rhythm. Herc took on most of the talking and John was glad they didn’t have to walk in awkward silence.

“-and then I literally had to drag this dude off him. I swear, his face looked like strawberry jam. All because of a spilt drink. Some people are crazy man.”

John kept half listening, admiring how into the story his friend was getting. It surprised him that he even thought of him as a friend. Briefly wondered if Herc thought the same.

John cut in after Herc had finished his retellings of the event. “Hey, uh, I’m sorry I’ve always treated you like shit.”

“You’ve already apologised.”

“Yeah, well, it’s just that-” he didn’t know how he wanted to phrase this, “You know I don’t have many friends, and-”

“Yeah, we should hang out more. I hope that’s what you were gonna say ‘cause it’d be embarrassing if it wasn’t.”

John huffed, a small grin playing on his lips. “That’d be nice.”

Herc grinned back, brighter than John’s.  


\--

A couple of days later, John met up with Herc after his shift. Resisted the urge ditch their plans and head into the bar. Could smell the stench tequila and briefly wondered if he was going to throw up on that alone. 

\--

It took him a few days until he gathered up the courage to go back to the diner. It wasn’t as though he didn’t want to go. He was embarrassed, at how he had run out both times. Was scared of seeing Alex again because maybe if they didn’t meet, John could forget about him.

But it wasn’t that easy, so John hugged his coat a little closer and kept walking. Except he didn’t get far. Didn’t get far till he heard someone behind him. 

“Hey, John, that you?” He turned. Saw Alex staring at him, then grinning. “We haven’t seen you round here for a while.”

“Yeah, uh,” he could feel his cheeks heating up, felt a little guilty getting caught trying to flee, a little embarrassed. “God, I’m sorry. I haven’t really been in the right… headspace?” His voice cracked on the last word and he muttered a curse under his breath.

Alex looked at him a moment, with all the intensity and focus he had whilst writing. It was overwhelming to be the centre of that much attention. But then his whole face shifted, relaxing into an easy grin. “Nah, it’s alright. We all missed you though.”

“Even you?” John didn’t know what happened, his brain connecting to his mouth before he could approve.

Alex laughed, sincerely, and open the door, gesturing for John to go first. “Yeah,” he said, “Especially me.”

Despite not being there for a while, John remembered Alex’s table. Everything felt so right, he could have laughed. A place he felt comfortable. He liked the thought.

Eliza greeted him as he walked through, grinning broadly and flashing her white teeth. She had a beautiful smile and John couldn’t imagine what the diner would be like without her. Maria was there too, reading something, though John couldn’t tell what. He waited at the table, watched as Alex ordered a coffee for the both of them.

“So, I’m thinking, I’ve got this really good idea,” Alex said as he sat in the chair opposite. 

John decided to humour him, asked him with a crooked smile, “And what would that be?”

Alex lit up even more, “We should go on a date. I mean, somewhere outside here. Not that this place isn’t nice or anything. It doesn’t even have to be anywhere special, we could just - I don’t know - chill somewhere, y’know?”

John felt his mouth go dry, just stared as Alex kept rambling. Finally, he stopped. John didn’t know if he had run out of words to say or if he saw how John was staring.

Apparently, John’s brain didn’t want to consult him that day. “You don’t know anything about me though.” He hated himself.

Alex gave a pained smile, “Then let me,” he paused, “God John, I like what I see - really like - but I wanna know more. Guess I’m greedy that way.” He was still looking at John, in such a way that John couldn’t look away. “I don’t want to pressure you. If you’re not interested, just say.” He took a sip of his coffee, “But, you know you deserve to be happy too, right?” 

John felt like crying, he hated that. Hated how weak it made him feel. But something about Alex’s sincerity kept him there. And for once, he didn’t feel like running away. 

\--

They agreed on Friday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like always, thanks for reading  
> A comment and kudos really would mean the world to me

**Author's Note:**

> fic title is from the album You Forgot It In People by Broken Social Scene. if you don't go listen to the full thing you're doing yourself a disservice.
> 
> chapter title is from Cause = Time off the same album.
> 
> i think i'll try and update around once a week if i can keep it up. i've got a couple more chapters already written but i'm gonna be pretty busy in the coming weeks.
> 
> i'm sure i'll have more notes to add as the story progresses but thanks so much for reading.


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